


Sweet Life

by nat (MoastedRarshmallow)



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, F/M, Falling In Love, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Parent-Child Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-13 21:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14756721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoastedRarshmallow/pseuds/nat
Summary: Homer is dead, Milhouse is back, and Bart's life is aching to turn from bitter to sweet.





	Sweet Life

**Author's Note:**

> I know Maggie being nine, Lisa being 19 and Bart being 23 doesn't line up their canon age gaps exactly but just go with okay, its supposed to be read like this happened over several years.. im not sure if that's clear enough lol  
>  title's a frank ocean song i love
> 
> kudos keep me going, comments make me better! <33

 Bart doesn’t want to see his tired, washed out face in the Duff bottle’s reflection. He looks too much like Homer. An alternate Homer, one with pierced nipples and a rattail, but still Homer. Still bloated beer belly and receding hairline.

 Bart chucked the bottle in the direction of his old treehouse and doesn’t watch to see if it landed its mark on the rotting wood. It does shatter, though, and that’s satisfying enough to make him smirk.

 When Homer died, of an unsurprising heart attack, Marge sold the house and moved upstate with a nine-year-old Maggie.

 “I need a new scene,” she had said, packing her things. Maggie clung to her knee. “Springfield has wrung me out.”

 The house had never been purchased, and nothing besides the interior furniture had been moved. Bart still considered it to be his. He often went there to drink, after his nightshift at the junkyard ended, and watch the sunrise. It wasn’t the healthiest of routines, but it was his.

 Bart cracked open another beer. It wouldn’t be light out for another hour, so he didn’t have to worry about Flanders busting his balls about “trespassing”. He reclined another inch into the weather-worn lawn chair.

 Lisa was busy getting her bachelors’ degree, online, and from what he’d heard, Marge was prospering as a real-estate agent. They had moved on, after Homer passed.

 Bart just… couldn’t. Even though Lisa offered to move in with him, to help him get into a technical college. Even though Marge had a guest room with a Bart-sized bed.

 Bart rubbed his hands against his face. They’d become calloused from fiddling with broken car parts and cutting himself one too many times. He didn’t much feel like seeing the sunrise anymore and stood to leave. He threw the bottle he hadn’t yet finished, watching this one soar right past the treehouse and into the wet grass.

*

 “Hey, son, you can’t stay here.”

 Bart woke up to a cop shining a light in his face, even though it was a bright morning. He sat up, finding himself on the sidewalk across from 742, Evergreen Terrace.

 “You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here,” the cop repeated. He was tall, skinny, and – as much as Bart hated cops, he had to admit – beautiful. Tall, strong, bottle-blonde beautiful.

 _Must be a Chief Wiggum-era replacement_ , Bart thought. The department was long due to getting tired of his shit, and finally had the money to fund new officers.

 “Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Bart responded gruffly. He couldn’t find his junker of a car last night, so he’d resigned to the sidewalk. Now this pig is gonna prod him out of here, like he isn’t entitled to a public walkway.

 Figures.

 Bart watched Ned Flanders peek his head out of his window as the police man shuffled him away. Of course, old man Neddy called the fuzz.

 Bart ran a hand through his hair. He was sweaty and gross. His dry mouth tasted like Duff, still, and his head swam from standing up so suddenly. His car was nowhere to be found, so it was probably impounded. Great. Fantastic.

 He fumbled around for his phone, and for a second, he thought he’d lost that, too. Blessedly, it’s there, and the relief is enough to make him twitch. He hit the speed dial.

 “Hey. I need a ride.”

 

 Lisa pulled up in Homer’s old Sedan. She’d rigged it enough to where it runs after all these years, and Bart will forever be impressed by how well her book knowledge translates.

 “Hey,” she said.

 Bart climbed in. The Sedan smelled like memories, and the driver’s seat was permanently smushed by Homer’s fat ass. Bart felt himself choking up, so he slammed the door hard enough to cover his gulp. Not the time.

 “Hey, Lise.”

 She’d become a leggy 19-year-old, smart as a whip and gorgeous. She was modest about it, though, and she faithfully wore her old string of pearls. She’d decided to take her freshman year of college online, mostly because Marge had asked her to look out for Bart. Bart kind of realized this, but he wasn’t any less grateful. One day, one day soon, she’d be off to real college, and it’d be him, alone, in Bumfuck Nowhere, USA.

 

 Lisa started to drive away, back towards Bart’s apartment. She herself rented a split-level with a roommate, which exactly why Bart opted for the cheap apartment. He’d had roomies for 18 years. No more, thank you.

 “What were you doing there?” _She means, what were you doing at home?_

 “Drinking.”

 Lisa wrinkled her nose. “Seriously?”

 Bart shrugged. There was no real reason to lie. “You gonna tattle?”

 Lisa laughed, sounding like her younger self for a moment. “And to whom do I tattle? It looks like the police were already called.”

 Bart shook his head. “Stupid Flanders.”

 

 They were silent for a few minutes. Lisa’s Jazz station filled the car up with soulful noise, and Bart found himself nodding along. Lisa pulled up to a light, and Bart took in the center of town for the umpteenth time. _So many stores have closed in the last few years_ , he thought. _This fuckin’ economy._

 “Milhouse is back,” Lisa said simply. “He wants to see you.”

 Milhouse had vanished the year after Bart dropped out, the year he graduated. No one knew where he went. He and Milhouse had pretty much stopped talking, after that.

“Hmm…. “said Bart.

 The car lurched forward.

*

_It’s Bart Simpson, man. Leave a message._

_**“Uhh.. hi, Bart. It’s Milhouse. Van Houten, I mean. I’m back with my mom, at least for a little while. I… miss hanging out with you, Bart. Gimme a call.”**_

Bart shook his head and replayed the message. He was positive there was only one Milhouse in the world, yet he felt the need to specify.

 Bart set his phone down. That’s just what everyone expects, right, for Bart to come back like a lost puppy? It’s what his dad expected, after wringing his neck for the millionth time. God, he regrets not telling the bastard off while he was alive…

 _Stop_. Milhouse isn’t Homer, he’s Milhouse. His intentions are innocent. Give him the benefit of the doubt, and all that shit Lisa never shuts up about.

 Bart took a deep breath and walked to the bathroom. The hot water of the shower was a shock to his system, and he was so, so glad for the distraction. It was almost time for his shift, which also smoothed out the creases in his mind. Mundane tasks for a few hours sounded like heaven.

 

 Bart was halfway out the door before he realized his car was impounded, and it was too close to midnight to ask Lisa to drive him. He called in and was surprised when he got off easy. His fourth-grade self was dancing after getting out of work, even if it was work he enjoyed.

 He hit the redial button on Milhouse. What the hell, right?

 

 Milhouse showed up wearing a button down and too much cologne. Bart couldn’t help but notice his Coke-bottle glasses were gone, and somehow, he didn’t look half bad.

 “Hi, Bart,” Milhouse said, and his voice is so much deeper and that’s all Bart needed to pull him into a great big bear hug. Friendship doesn’t just disappear, after all.

 “What the hell happened to you, man?” Bart asked. He shut the door behind Milhouse and ushered him in. Originally, they had planned to go for drinks, but Bart was in pajama bottoms and socks and Milhouse didn’t much feel like turning around.

 Milhouse sat on Bart’s second-hand couch, facing his flat screen. He’s a bit shocked Bart’s place is spruced up and clean, especially, but he likes it. It’s boxy and small, but it’s nice.

  He shrugged. “I moved out West to be with my dad, for a few years. Majesty of the mountains, and all that.”

 Milhouse sighed. “Mom was driving me nuts, I mean really, really, nuts, wanting me to be a doctor and shit.” He laughed. “Dad just wanted me to help him open pistachios.”

 Bart snorted. “Nuts for nuts, eh?”

 Milhouse shook his head. He wasn’t expecting to fall back into their routine this quickly, to pick up where they left off. He’s glad they did.

 “How has everything been here, though? How’s Marge, and Homer and Maggie? How’s Lisa?”

 Bart smiled again, but there was no joy behind it, it didn’t even reach his eyes. Milhouse wished he still had glasses to fidget with, because he’s suddenly nervous.

 “Homer’s dead,” Bart said. “Mom and Maggie moved upstate after the funeral.”

 Milhouse’s heart sunk. Oh, God.  “I’m so sorry…”

 Bart shook his head sharply. “Don’t be, I’m not. Mom’s happy, and Homer was a fat bastard, anyway.”

 “Lisa’s good,” he added, as an afterthought.

 “Bart…” Milhouse said. He reached out and touched Bart gently on the arm. Bart recoiled.

“Don’t, Milhouse. Don’t. I don’t want this to turn into a pity par-“

 

 And suddenly, Milhouse was kissing him.

 

 Bart didn’t pull away, not like Milhouse had when they were kids. It was late, during a sleepover, and Bart had rolled over to look at Milhouse in his sleeping bag.

 “Hey, Milhouse? Psst, Milhouse?”

 Milhouse rolled over, groggily, and pulled on his glasses.

 “Have you ever been kissed, Milhouse?” Bart asked. His eyes were wide, and the light from his Krusty nightlight illuminated his face.

 Milhouse sat up. “Sure I have,” he said. “I kissed Samantha that one time, and I almost kissed Lisa. I kissed your dad, that was weird-“

 “Bullshit,” Bart whispered. The word tasted forbidden on his tongue, just the way he liked it. “I mean, have you been kissed? Has the other person done it, to you?”

 Milhouse scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “No, I don’t think so. No. I’ve never been kissed.”

 “Do you want to be?” Bart said, and clasped his hand around Milhouse’s arm. Milhouse blushed deep beet red, but he didn’t pull away, yet. Bart inched towards him, and then their lips were touching. Milhouse remembered Bart forgot to brush his teeth.

 Then Milhouse jumped up and ran to the bathroom. He slept in the tub that night.

 

 Now, Bart doesn’t pull away, and Milhouse only ends the kiss to come up for air. Bart looked a little flushed, but he smirked.

 “Damn, if I knew the benefits of having a dead dad sooner…” he joked, and Milhouse punched him lightly in the arm.

 “Shut up, jackass.” 

*

  “This isn’t a good idea,” Lisa muttered. She paced around her room, occasionally looking over at Bart. She looked down at her stubby, bitten nails, and wondered how gross it would be to stick one back in her mouth. This is her fault.

 “What if he leaves again?”

 Bart sat up off Lisa’s bed. His mouth pursed, and his eyes became stormy and serious. “He won’t.”

 

 “Hi, Mom,” Bart said into the phone. He kept his eyes on the sleeping Milhouse and scooted away to not to wake him with the call.

 “Hi, honey!”

 She sounded so chipper, so much better than she had in the years before Homer passed. He felt like crying.

 “Maggie, honey, be quieter, I’m on the phone…”

 In the background, there were little girls talking and laughing loudly. Maggie was growing up without them.

 “Anyway, Bart, you’re eating? You’re paying bills? You should really come visit, sweetie, it’s been such a long time –“

 Bart cleared his throat. “Do you know that, uh, word, Homer used to call me? Before he got, uhh, a little more educated?” he interrupted.

 Marge had moved to a quieter room, and Bart could hear Milhouse’s breathing more clearly. He looked out the window of Milhouse’s childhood bedroom, and he remembered wanting to share this bed with his best friend years ago. Things got complicated before they got simpler.

 “Ah..” Marge said. Her voice was softer now.  “I don’t… I don’t… ah…”

 “It’s okay,” Bart said. His voice came out quiet. “You don’t have to say it.”

 He knew she felt guilty about how Homer treated his children, Bart especially. But he needed her to know.

 Bart swallowed. “He was right.” 

 

  Milhouse liked to swim. He didn’t have a job, just straight up didn’t need one with his Mom’s finances, so he got a YMCA membership, and he comes back to Bart’s apartment dripping water all over his hardwood. He’d wake Bart, who’d just come from his nightshift, and plant wet kisses all over his face. They’d have sex, or maybe just watch a shitty, made-for-TV movie, and Bart would fall back to sleep inhaling the chlorine off Milhouse’s skin.

 “I need… a new job. A people job,” Bart whispered into Milhouse’s neck one night. He smelled as chlorinated as ever. _What Ever Happened to Baby Jane_ played on Bart’s flat screen, but they were so intertwined, neither of them could watch it.

 “Whaddya mean?” Milhouse whispered back.

 “I mean, a daytime job. So, I can see you when the sun is out.”

 Milhouse frowned. “You love your job.”

 “I love you more.”

 Before Milhouse could process this first I love you, Bart had fallen asleep again.

 Milhouse kissed his forehead. _I love you, too._

 

 Bart didn’t feel stagnant anymore. He looked in the mirror, and he saw less of Homer and more of Bart.

 

 Lisa was ecstatic when Bart finally asked for her help.

 “I want to make this thing with Milhouse real,” he said, letting himself into her house with the spare key.

 Lisa sat up from the couch. She hit the mute button on the TV and set her textbook aside.

 “And?” 

 “I think I need a real job for that. A career.”

 She cocked her head. “Doesn’t Milhouse work? It’s gotta be more than enough to get the two of you by…”

 Bart sat next to her. He watched the characters from the _Big Bang Theory_ talk soundlessly, and his brain filled in the laugh track where their mouths didn’t move. Lisa always did have a garbage taste in shows.

 “Milhouse doesn’t work, he doesn’t need to. The Van Houtens are loaded, if you haven’t noticed.” Bart swallowed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Milhouse had bought him a brand-new car after his was too difficult to get from the impound, for Christ’s sake. They were pretty set for cash.

  “This isn’t about him, it’s about me. I need to get my shit together if I want to keep him… and I do.”

 “So, it is kind of about him, then,” Lisa replied. He couldn’t argue with that logic but huffed at her anyway.

 “Just help me look into colleges, Lise, please?”

 

 “I’m going to college, Milhouse. Few hours a week, maybe, nothing crazy. To teach, I think.”

 He’d always wanted to teach, to help the stupid kids like himself. He just never thought he could do it. Milhouse made him believe, Lisa too.

 Milhouse dropped the knife he was using to cut tomatoes. He bundled Bart up in his arms, somehow, despite being several inches shorter. He looked ready to cry.

 “I’m so proud of you!” he exclaimed, planting a big kiss on Bart’s cheek.

*

 

  Marge turned up at Bart’s apartment suddenly, not long after he had started taking classes during the day and an easier, lighter junkyard shift at night. Lisa had left for Providence, to take some real-life college courses, and Milhouse was out mattress shopping.

 “The full-size won’t cut it anymore,” he had declared. “I need to breathe at night.”

She looked so much older than Bart remembered, and he felt so sorry. He kept meaning to visit, really, and he had no excuse not to.

 Her beehive was shorter and grayer now, her laugh lines were deeper. She held a little orange suitcase.

 “Hi, honey.”

 “Mom.”

 

 She shut the door behind herself, and took off her shoes, something Bart was always forgetting to do.

 “It’s been too long, Mom, how goes it? I kept meaning to visit… I’m sorry,” he started.

 Marge sat down at the island where Milhouse liked to make dinner. She held up her hands and he fell quiet. Bart realized she still wore her engagement ring.

 “You have your own life now. I just dropped Maggie off at a Summer camp farther down state, and figured I’d visit. I won’t stay long. Just wanted to make sure you’re eating and all that.”

 Bart leaned up against his mother, for the first time in years. She smelled like fabric softener, something Bart had never thought to put on their shopping list. Maybe he would, next time.

 Marge took in the apartment. Clean, and with nice drapes. Impressive, for a twenty-three-year-old.

 “I’m just fine, Mom. Milhouse takes good care of me.”

 Milhouse?

 _Oh._ Marge remembered that strange phone call, and everything clicked.

 She smiled. “I’m glad you’re doing well, sweetheart.” 

 

 Marge spent a day in the apartment before returning upstate. Milhouse was a little affectionate while she was around, something about how she watched them made him nervous. Before she left, she gave Milhouse a big hug, though, so he felt fine about it.

 “Let me walk you to your car,” Bart offered. She nodded.

 In the elevator, Marge sniffed. “You’re doing so well, despite all that happened…”

 She touched his face gently. “I’m sorry about your father. I never really got past it… despite all the moving and the new job… I’m sorry about what he did to you… to us….” A few tears rolled down her cheeks. Bart wiped them away.

 “It’s okay, Mom,” he said. And for the first time in years, it truly was. He had his family, he had a burgeoning career, he had Milhouse. Homer was dead and buried, really gone for Bart, and he’d stopped visiting Evergreen Terrace every night.

 

 Life was good, sweet and ripe.


End file.
